


near, now, for evermore

by saintsurvivor



Series: tumblr drabbles [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, M/M, Post Radiation Injuries, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:02:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/pseuds/saintsurvivor
Summary: Kirk snuffles quietly, presses further into the bedspread, leaves himself open for MCoy to make his home and future there.





	near, now, for evermore

#  _near, now, for evermore_

 

\---

 

“Jim,” McCoy whispers.

Kirk rolls over, fits himself into the sharp curves of McCoy’s own body, digs deeper into the covers. McCoy can’t help himself, leans down, kisses Kirk’s temple, lingers on how Kirk’s eyelashes flutter golden against his cheek, casts shadows on Kirk’s freckles.

“Jimmy, you’ve gotta get up,” McCoy doesn’t try very hard, honestly. Too mesmerized with the way Kirk looks so comfortable, relaxed. Stripped bare of tension and fear. 

McCoy finds he likes the look of Jimmy,  _domestic_ , much more than he does, James T. KIrk,  _commanding officer_.

There’s a certain softness to him, how he turns away from the light peering through the curtains, Georgian heat scorching against the side of the house.

“Shhh, love,” Kirk murmurs, pats a hand around, brushes the palm against McCoy’s chest. Pulls McCoy tighter to him with a handle on McCoy’s shoulder. “Sleep,”

McCoy laughs, low and light. Let’s Kirk turn him slightly so McCoy is pressing him against the bed spread, a weight that keeps Kirk grounded. McCoy slots himself easily into the gaps Kirk makes of himself, fits his thigh between Kirk’s, mouths a chaste kiss to the hollow of Kirk’s throat, fits a five-point brand dug deep into Kirk’s still too skinny ribs.

The thought makes McCoy inhale sharply. Feels the dip and sharp hang of Kirk’s hips. Clenches his eyes shut, buries his face into Kirk’s golden hair, rubs his nose softly against Kirk’s pulse point in his neck.

“I love you, Jimmy,” He says, this soft, fond thing. He hopes he can make Kirk undertand. Tries to erase the image of blank eyes and a slack mouth, a hand reaching towards nothing but glass.

Kirk snuffles quietly, presses further into the bedspread, leaves himself open for MCoy to make his home and future there. 

For all that McCoy has spent almost two weeks waking up like this, seeing the burning sun and a glorious Kirk, it’s still new, still  _raw_. 

Still wakes up peering at Kirk’s face, peers at the vitalstrap wrapped snugly around Kirk’s wrist, the slow quiet beep of his heart rate, blood presure, oxygen levels. Often wakes during the night, leans up on his elbow, counts the respiration rate of the man next to him. 

Never tells of the nightmares that wakes him, fearing that when he’ll turn over Kirk will disappear, will simply stop breathing.

“Jim,” McCoy murmurs, presses a kiss to that carotid point, feels the flutter of a heart beat. Kirk mutters sleepily back, incoherent. Wraps a hand around McCoy’s own wrist, pulls it close to kiss the palm and pull it with him as Kirk rolls onto his side.

McCoy chuckles, presses against Kirk back easily. Takes all the time he can to get settled, keeps pressing kisses to Kirk’s neck, brushes tender touches against his temple, down his cheek. 

“Love you, Bones,” Kirk whispers, tangles weak fingers with McCoy’s, tugs them beneath his chin, a safety blanket McCoy will always allow. 

“Love you too, darlin’,” He says, runs a hand through Kirk’s brittle, golden hair, kisses the blisters of Kirk’s knuckles. Doesn’t think of radiation and death and serums.

Thinks of this, of the future. How he wants to keep Kirk snug against him, protected and loved. Thinks how he has almost four more months of this, before he has to watch Kirk drown in the politics of Starfleet once more.

“Love you too, sweetheart,” He says again, will tattoo it onto his skin if needs be, wants to say it every day, ever hour, every minute. “So much,”

Kirk turns, soft, sweet and McCoy falls all over again

 

\---


End file.
